Whitefish River Recon

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Seven miles, one-and-a-half hours, approximately twenty-three degrees of solar shift at a steady trot, all crudely calculated as he followed Neverwinter's eastern border north to south. Kintla Flatlands stretched away on his left. For a time, morning sunlight had gilded the thick, roiling steam of the Firestone Hot Springs until the air itself seemed to have been touched by Midas. But the Springs had quickly been replaced by dry, honey-colored plains that sprawled from the Wilderness to the bluffs and foothills of Sunspire, and he'd since lost interest in the view. Instead, he kept looking to his right at the shadow-drenched Neverwinter Forest, which beetled into the crystal blue sky half-a-mile away. A stark westerly carried the odor of its pack to him, which he could smell even as he trotted to the edge of the Whitefish forest. Before he entered it, Goldry paused, raised his head, and inhaled deeply. His eyes raked the dark Neverwinter woods, and he wondered, not for the first time, of their temperament and culture. Who was their leader, how many were they, and how did the formation of Tartok affect them? Despite his curiosity, Goldry decided not to engage them directly for now. His simple, self-appointed reconnaissance was meant to acquire geographical data – nothing more. His breath steamed away. He ducked into the khaki shadows of the Whitefish forest, and heard the muted rumble of the River up ahead. As he went, he glanced up at the sun from beneath the spindly Autumn canopy, and frowned. More like thirty degrees of solar shift – so, it took roughly two hours to travel from the southern tip of Tartok to Whitefish River using a neutral path outside of Neverwinter Forest. He glanced in Neverwinter's direction. Their territory was bigger than he thought. Still, he hoped to finish surveying the surrounding land quickly, if not for Tartok's sake then to satiate his own interest. For this reason, he threaded swiftly between the trees, and halted only momentarily as he came upon the wide, loamy bank of Whitefish River. The gray-blue waters, capped by bubbling foam, coursed past him at a rapid pace. He turned and struck out westward, intent on following it past Neverwinter's southern border. Goldry smiled. It seemed the River was in a hurry too.

Table by Noire